The eyes of a long-shore population are ever on the sea from which comes their livelihood, and nothing on the sea escapes them long.  The Collector’s head by this time was but a speck bobbing on the waves, but ere he turned back for shore maybe two hundred of Port Nassau’s population were watching, from various points.  The Port Nassauers, whatever their individual frailties, were sternly religious—­nine-tenths of them from conviction or habit, the rest in self-defence—­and Sabbatarians to a man.  The sight of that heathen slave, Manasseh, waiting on the beach with a bath-gown over his arm, incensed them to fury.  Growls were uttered, here and there, that if the authorities knew their business this law-breaker—­for Sabbath-breaking was an indictable offence—­should be seized on landing, haled naked to justice, and clapped in the town stocks; but fortunately this indignation had no concert and found, for the moment, no leader.

The Collector, having swum out more than half a mile, turned and sped back, using a sharp side-stroke now with a curving arm that cleft the ridges like the fin of a fish.  His feet touched earth, and he ran up through the pursuing breakers—­a fleet-footed Achilles again, glittering from the bath.  Manasseh hurried down to throw his mantle over the godlike man.

“Towel me here,” was the panting command.  And, lo! slipping off his bathing-dress and standing naked to the sea.  Captain Vyell was towelled under the eyes of Port Nassau, and flesh-brushed until he glowed (it may be) as healthily as did the cheeks of those who spied on him.  On this question the Muse declines to take sides.  For certain his naked body, after these ministrations, glowed delicious within the bath-gown as he mounted again to his Olympian chamber.  There he allowed Manasseh to wash out his locks in fresh water (the Collector had a fine head of hair, of a waved brown, and detested a wig), to anoint them, and tie them behind with a fresh black ribbon.  This done, he took his clothes one by one as Manasseh handed them, and arrayed himself, humming the while an air from Opera, and thus unconsciously committing a second offence against the Sabbath.

He descended to find Dicky already seated at table, awaiting him.  Dicky had slept like a top in spite of the strange bed; and awaking soon after daybreak, had lain cosily listening to the boom of the sea.  To him this holiday was a glorious interlude in the regime of Miss Quiney.  His handsome father did not kiss him, but merely patted him on the shoulder as he passed to his chair; and to Dick (though he would have liked a kiss) it seemed just the right manly thing to do.